


Borders

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-02
Updated: 2001-01-02
Packaged: 2018-11-10 13:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11128050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray makes a mistake and tries to cross  over a well guarded border.





	Borders

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).
    
    
    Title:  Borders
    
    Disclaimer:   Mistakes in this are mine.  Fraser and RayK are 
    Alliances... Damn! 
    
    Pairing:  None really, but if this turns into a series, then Fraser and
    RayK. 
    
    Mail:  
    
    Note:  My very first real attempt at angst.  I don't know what I was
    thinking of to be honest.  I hate seeing RayK suffering anything but
    an annoying Mountie and serious amounts of sexual hi-jinks with said
    Mountie.  But I think my muse (I didn't think I had one, but its 02.52
    am and I just couldn't seem to help myself, so I guess I must have.)
    wanted a bit of hurt thrown his way.  Hopefully, she'll allow me make
    it all better again.  Jaydaxxx as ever gets my thanks as beta.  Thanks
    babe. This story gets an R as I like to err on the side of caution. 
    
    Borders
    03/01/2001
    
    I don't know how I made it home. Hand pushed open door; feet somehow
    move me through it, door closes behind me.  It seems so simple huh? 
    Guess again.  Every step shoulda hurt like fuck, but I was too numb to
    feel the damage.  No, wait a second.  I'm being melodramatic here, so
    why not? Every step shoulda felt like death. 
    
    I'd shake my head in my utter disbelief at being so fucking stupid if
    I didn't already know just how stupid I was.  A kinda twisted circular
    logic to that.  And who taught me about logic?  The Mountie. 
    
    My hand reaches for the bottle of whiskey I'd somehow had the good sense
    to leave on the coffee table before I left the house.  
    
    You see, the plan was, to wallow in self-pity, get mildly intoxicated
    (See Fraser?  I know a few big words all of my own)then go to bed.  But
    tonight, for some stupid reason that I still don't understand, I got
    up offa my ass and headed over to the Consulate.  
    
    Even then it wasn't my intention to tell him anything.  Just another
    evening spent in that somehow warming shadow of the world's most perfect
    man.  I swear to God, I don't know how Frannie does it.  Wanting him,
    and never so much as getting a look that could inspire fresh hope. 
    
    Well, Hope musta been messin' with my head tonight.  I head over there
    and I tell him.  He's coming out, and I'm about to cross over into Canada,
    (He loves tellin' me that everytime I come into the Consulate with him.
    You've just crossed the border into Canada Ray, like I don't already
    know.  Still, it's always with a smile and I love it when he smiles)
    when we meet, each of us on our own side of the border.  
    
    He greets me in his overly friendly manner that he has with me, the one
    that lets me believe that he's let me and only me past a few of the barriers
    that everyone else has to deal with. 
    
    This is where Hope kicks me in the head.  I say hi.  Ask him where he's
    headin', and then blurt out that him I love him. 
    
    At first he just smiles, and tells me he loves me to.  My heart is already
    racing, so I don't really notice it speed up a notch.  See what a fucked
    up callous bitch Hope can be?   
    
    He waits for a second, the smile dropping a bit.  Not so that anyone
    else would notice, or at least, that's what I tell myself.  Hey, I gotta
    see more than the rest of the world sees' or this is just lust.  And
    I don't just lust after him.  I love him.  With Fraser, the love came
    first. 
    
    He says it himself, his eyes a blaze of what I take to be something that
    isn't. 
    
    Symbolically Ray? 
    
    It was a way out for both of us, but me and adrenalin?  We've been life
    long pals.  Stella used to get so pissed off with the way I'd fidget
    and move about when she wanted me to be still.  It's no different now.
    I'm on a high, hormones or whatever, I don't know.  I take a step forward,
    trying to cross that line, but he doesn't budge. 
    
    My mouth takes over.
    
    Not this time Ben.  I shouldn't have said it last time either.  I just
    love you.  No fancy add ons.  Just me, Stanley Raymond Kowalski.  
    
    I smile.  I'm waiting for him to say it.  I've convinced myself that
    he's gonna.  But what does he say? 
    
    I see.
    
    Nothing else.  Absolutely nothing else.  It kills the smile on his face
    though, and I can see it coming so clearly.  The, I don't know what to
    say look he's perfected as his standard response to unwanted admirers.
    It usually takes a few seconds for the words to come catch up with the
    look on his face.  
    
    I can't bear to hear it though.  I just nod at him and walk off, tossing
    a, see ya at work tomorrow then, over my shoulder. 
    
    I haven't a fucking clue as to why I said that.  Really.  The most banal
    thing I coulda said.  It was from then that I went on autopilot.  Hell,
    I'd left the GTO sitting at the kerb.  I just walked home, the pain somehow
    made bearable by the fact that my minds gone numb.  That's why I can't
    remember how I made it home. 
    
    So now here I am, sitting in the dark.  The anaesthetic that just about
    got me home wore off a long time ago, the bottle in my hand a very handy
    replacement.  
    
    The thought of seeing him tomorrow?  It's eating me up inside.  I'm gonna
    hav'ta go undercover all over again, just to get him to pretend that
    he's forgotten about it.  And it gonna hurt and I don't know if I can
    cope. 
    
    Dark nasty thoughts hit me as the alcohol seeps through me.
    
    What if he doesn't come in tomorrow?  What if he can't stand to look
    at you now?  What if he leaves you for good?  You don't even have a decent
    picture of him to hold onto if he goes. 
    
    I stumble to my feet, and search through the crap in my desk for the
    picture I stole from the case notes I'd been given, so I could know the
    ins and outs of this guy Vecchio's life. 
    
    My hand is shaking as I pull it out, and I look at it through the eyes
    of a drunk.  It's just a photocopy of the one on his service record.
    The only thing alive about it is his eyes.  It was his eyes that I first
    noticed, in the dull grainy black and white of a bad photocopy.  The
    rest is all duty and commitment.  The hard straight lines of a career
    Mountie and emotional cripple. 
    
    I suddenly get angry and tear it up.  How could he not love me?  Doesn't
    he know the pain of being alone?  Even with Stella, towards the end,
    I was alone.  She'd left me a long time before the divorce, a long time
    before the separation.  I thought that he'd understand that kinda pain,
    that together we could exercise it somehow. 
    
    I'd thought I stood a chance with Fraser.  Why I thought that I don't
    know.  I laugh out loud suddenly.  Maybe insanity runs in my family.
    
    The laughter gets kinda outta hand, and I just end up falling onto the
    sofa.  That voice is back again. 
    
    You don't deserve him.
    
    I'd heard that one a lot, even before this mess.  I tell myself I shoulda
    listened to it, and then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.  
    
    I don't know if I want to care anymore, my hand reaching for the bottle
    again.  And hopefully with it, an oblivion that'll see me through the
    night.  Then its just tomorrow I have to worry about.  And the day after,
    and the day after that...  
    
    The End.
     
     


End file.
